Women in Sacred Scripture

In recent months I've prepared a number of study guides for our parish's Bible Study program. The goal -- other than to keep me busy during these long months of semi-confinement at home -- is to encourage our nearly 100 participants to continue reading their Bibles until we can get together again in our weekly sessions. I receive occasional positive comments from our participants, and to date no one has panned my little guides, so I suppose that's good. I hope these small efforts have been beneficial.

Anyway, my recent studies include an updated guide for the Book of Ruth and a new guide for the Book of Judith. Currently I'm working on a guide for the Book of Esther, a task that's taking me a bit longer than I had envisioned. Esther, one of the more complex books of Sacred Scripture, is consequently more difficult to present in my usual fairly brief format. I hope to complete it this week, but other life-demands seem to interrupt me whenever I sit down to work. 

Although I didn't intend to focus on Biblical books centered on women, it seems to have worked out that way. In these books we encounter truly remarkable women who, despite numerous social, economic, and even religious barriers, achieved great things. Although they certainly set an example of personal courage and fortitude for women of every age, they were primarily women of tremendous faith. It was their faith and their trust in God that enabled them to overcome many seemingly unsurmountable obstacles. In every instance, the efforts of these women might have led to far better personal situations, but ultimately the end they sought was the greater glory of God. And in this they set the best example for all of us, women and men alike.

Every Christmas, at the Mass during the Night (what we used to call "Midnight Mass") we proclaim the genealogy found in the opening verses of the Gospel according to Matthew [Mt 1:1-17]. If I'm called to preach at that Mass, I like to draw attention to the women whom Matthew includes in the genealogy of Jesus. 

With the sole exception of Mary, the women mentioned by Matthew are all Gentiles: Tamar and Rahab were Canaanites, Ruth was a Moabite, Bathsheba was a Hittite. Jesus' family tree, then, wasn't so purely Jewish, was it? Those Gentiles among His ancestors highlight the fact that He came from all of us and for all of us. 

And He came especially for sinners.  Again, consider those women. With the exception of Ruth, they, like the men who fill the pages of Scripture, were rather public sinners. Tamar disguised herself as a prostitute to fool her father-in-law, Judah, and ended up giving birth to his twin sons. Rahab actually was a prostitute, and yet a faithful woman. And Bathsheba? From the roof of his house King David watched her bathing, invited her in, seduced her, and had her husband killed, so he could marry her. Solomon, their son, started right with God, but eventually joined his many wives in worshipping idols.

Yes, indeed, God's plan of salvation is universal. Humanity, and that includes every one of us, saints and sinners, men and women -- we're all called into the Family of God.

Recently Diane and I were reminded of one of these women mentioned by Matthew. We escaped for a brief vacation and spent several days in the hills of north Georgia. Visiting the town square of Clarkesville, Georgia, we bought a few items from a shop that supports a mission called "Rahab's Rope" dedicated to empowering women and children in the fight against human trafficking. The name of the mission comes from chapter two of the Book of Joshua in which Rahab, a prostitute in Jericho, and an ancestor of Our Lord, helped the Israelite spies escape:

Then she let them down through the window with a rope, for she lived in a house built into the city wall [Jos 2:15].

Rahab, inspired by the Holy Spirit, acted courageously, and helped bring about the Israelite victory. The result: 

Because Rahab the prostitute had hidden the messengers whom Joshua had sent to reconnoiter Jericho, Joshua let her live, along with her father's house and all her family, who dwell in the midst of Israel to this day [Jos 6:25].

But human trafficking isn't something restricted to the third world. It's right here in the U.S.A. and is growing thanks to our now almost wide-open border. The drug cartels have discovered they can make additional millions from the unholy trafficking of women and children whom they essentially sell into slavery. While so many today seem focused on the slavery of our distant past, they ignore the very real, very vicious form of slavery that's right here, right now.

Homily: Moonday 33rd Week of Ordianry Time

I have embedded a video of this homily below. Preached on Monday, November 18, 2019, the complete text follows the video.

Readings: 1 Mc 1:10-15,41-43,54-57,62-63; Ps 119; Lk 18:35-43

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Jesus cured thousands of people during his public ministry, but of all those He cured I’ve always had a special liking for this blind beggar of Jericho.

In today’s Gospel passage Luke just gives us the basic facts and then goes on to tell the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector. But in Mark’s Gospel this blind beggar has a name: Bartimaeus, the son of Timeous.

I don’t think you and I can imagine what Bartimaeus’ life must have been like. There was no Department of Health and Human Services, no Social Security to provide him with a monthly disability check, no charitable organizations to provide assistance or caregivers. No, Bartimaeus was pretty much on his own.

His family probably expected him to pay his way by begging at the city gates, and so there he sat, every day, wrapped up in his cloak, the symbol of his beggary, crying out to people, begging for alms as they passed by. But this day he hears something different, a large, animated crowd, and in his blindness asks what the commotion’s all about.

“It’s Jesus of Nazareth,” he’s told.

Now, he’d no doubt heard of Jesus – word gets around – yes, he’d heard about this prophet and healer, and so Bartimaeus seizes the opportunity…and he cries out, as loudly as he can. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Of course, the disciples, who have not yet learned what discipleship is all about, try to shut him up. 

“Be quiet! This is Jesus. He’s an important man, much too important for you.”

Bartimaeus will have none of it, and continues to cry out: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” 

Jesus, of course, hears him and calls for him. In Mark’s Gospel we’re told that Bartimaeus leaps to his feet, throws off his cloak, and runs straight to Jesus. Yes, Bartimaeus is certain that something wonderful is about to happen to him, and in his excitement he can hardly control himself.

He leaps to his feet and throws aside the symbol of his beggary, that old, dirty, moth-eaten cloak. He throws it aside because he knows he’ll never again need it. That cloak is the symbol of his old life, a life of darkness, a life of begging, a life of slavery. And moved by the Holy Spirit, in his blindness he runs straight to Jesus.

Jesus simply asks him: “What can I do for you?”

And Bartimaeus replies, just as simply: “Lord, please let me see.”

Did you notice how Bartimaeus addresses Jesus? First, he calls him by the Messianic title, “Son of David” and then, when he’s there in Jesus’ presence, he calls him “Lord.” Oh, yes, Bartimaeus, this man of blind faith, was filled with the Holy Spirit.

Moved by his faith, Jesus says, “Have sight; your faith has saved you.” And then Bartimaeus follows Jesus giving glory to God.

Mark has a slightly different ending. According to Mark, Jesus said, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.” And then Mark adds, “Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the Way.” 

In other words, he became a disciple. And it’s no wonder because he received a kind of triple healing. Jesus cures him of physical blindness, his spiritual blindness, and offers him salvation.

It’s interesting how often in the Gospel those who are healed, those who experience the intimate presence of Jesus in their lives, how quickly they come to recognize who Jesus is, while the apostles and other disciples plod along cluelessly. There at the gates of Jericho, the disciples were decidedly un-disciplelike as they attempted to limit those who could come close to Jesus.

You and I, which are we?

Are you and I like Bartimaeus, filled with faith, bursting with the Holy Spirit, and willing to follow Jesus wherever He leads us? Or do we simply go through the Christian motions?

Or are we, like the disciples, kind of “Jesus groupies” who jealously guard Jesus from those who aren’t as holy as we? Are we more focused on ourselves than on seeing Jesus in others?

These are good questions to ask ourselves today.

Homily: Monday, 33rd Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Mc 1:10-15, 41-43, 54-57, 62-63; Ps 119; Lk 18:35-43
 
Jesus cured thousands of people during his public ministry, but of all those He cured I’ve always had a special liking for this blind beggar of Jericho.

In today’s Gospel passage Luke just gives us the basic facts of this miraculous healing by Jesus. Luke then moves his narrative along and goes on to tell the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector. But in Mark’s Gospel this blind beggar has a name: Bartimaeus, the son of Timeous.

I don’t think you and I can imagine what Bartimaeus’ life must have been like. There was no Department of Health and Human Services, no Social Security to provide him with a monthly disability check, no charitable organizations to provide assistance or caregivers. No, Bartimaeus was pretty much on his own.  His family probably expected him to pay his way by begging at the city gates, and so there he sat, every day, wrapped up in his cloak, the symbol of his beggary, crying out to people, and begging for alms as they passed by.

But this day he hears something different, a large, animated crowd, and so in his blindness he asks what the commotion’s all about.

“It’s Jesus of Nazareth,” he’s told.

Now, he’d no doubt heard of Jesus – after all, word gets around – yes, he’d heard about this prophet and healer, and so Bartimaeus seizes the opportunity, and cries out, as loudly as he can. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Of course the disciples, who have not yet learned what discipleship is all about, try to shut him up. We can just imagine their words: “Be quiet! This is Jesus. He’s an important man, much too important for you.”

But Bartimaeus will have none of it, and continues to cry out: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

As we would expect, Jesus hears him and calls for him. In Mark’s Gospel we’re told that Bartimaeus leaps to his feet, throws off his cloak, and runs straight to Jesus. Yes, Bartimaeus is certain that something wonderful is about to happen to him, and in his excitement he can hardly control himself. “Leaping Bartimaeus” throws aside that old, dirty, moth-eaten cloak. He throws it aside because filled with faith he knows he’ll never again need it. That cloak is the symbol of his old life, a life of darkness, a life of begging, a life of slavery. And Jesus is about to offer him something new.

Moved by the Holy Spirit, in his blindness Bartimaeus runs straight to Jesus, who simply asks him, “What can I do for you?”

And Bartimaeus replies, just as simply, “Lord, please let me see.”

Did you notice how Bartimaeus addressed Jesus? First, he called him by the Messianic title, “Son of David” and then, when he’s there in Jesus’ presence, up close and personal, he called him “Lord.” Oh, yes, Bartimaeus, this man of blind faith, was filled with the Holy Spirit.

Moved by the faith of this holy beggar, Jesus proclaims the Word: “Have sight; your faith has saved you.” When the Word of God speaks, things happen, and Bartimaeus sees. He sees His Lord standing before him. Of course he can do nothing but follow Jesus giving glory to God.

Mark relates a slightly different ending. According to Mark, Jesus said, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.” And then Mark adds, “Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way.”

In other words, he became a disciple. And it’s no wonder because he received a kind of triple healing. Jesus cures him of physical and spiritual blindness and then offers him salvation.

It’s interesting to note that in the Gospel those who are healed, those who experience a most intimate presence of Jesus in their lives, come to recognize who Jesus is, almost instantaneously, while the apostles and other disciples plod along cluelessly.

There at the gates of Jericho, the disciples were decidedly un-disciplelike as they attempted to limit those who could come close to Jesus.

You and I, which are we?

Are we like Bartimaeus, aware of our brokenness, but ready to let the Lord heal us? Can we hardly wait to get close to Jesus? Are we so filled with faith, so bursting with the Holy Spirit, that we’re willing to follow Jesus wherever He leads us?

Or are we, like too many of the disciples, kind of “Jesus groupies” who jealously guard Jesus from those who simply don’t measure up? Do we forget how much Jesus loves the sinner, how He calls them to Him? Are we more focused on ourselves than on seeing Jesus in others?

These are good questions to ask ourselves today.

Homily: 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Jer 31:7-9; Ps 126:1-6; Heb 5:1-6; Mk 10:46-52

A few weeks ago, as we studied John’s Gospel in one of our parish Bible Study sessions, someone asked me why the gospels were so short, why they didn’t tell us more about Jesus and His life. Actually, St. John, at the very end of his Gospel, almost apologizes for this, telling us that the world couldn't hold all the books that would have to be written to tell the full story of Jesus.

I think perhaps too many of us view the gospels simply as a collection of stories about the life of Jesus -- sort of like Boswell's Life of Johnson, only a lot shorter. And so, as we read the gospels, we're often left wondering about what wasn't written. But to do this is to miss the entire point.

You see, the Holy Spirit, in inspiring the gospel writers, knew exactly what He was about. Yes, the gospels are about Jesus, about His life, His teachings, His redemptive passion, death and resurrection -- the centerpiece of human history. And reading them prayerfully certainly brings us closer to Him. But the gospels are also about us, about you and about me. Indeed, we can make a good case for claiming that true conversion to Jesus Christ really begins only when you recognize yourself in the gospel.

The gospels are really a personal encounter with Jesus Christ. That’s their power. That’s the power of the Holy Spirit. The gospels illuminate the blind spots in our lives -- the attachments that keep us from full conversion.

Remember the encounter we had two weeks ago? The rich young man who sought out Jesus and asked what he must do to inherit eternal life. "You are lacking in one thing." Jesus told him. "Sell what you have, give to the poor…come follow me." We can almost feel the man recoil from Jesus, and he went away sad, burdened by his possessions. He came to Jesus sure of his innocence before he Law, but unaware of his weakness before God. He came with a sense that something was missing; but didn’t suspect what it was. For it was everything! His wealth – neither wrongly acquired nor wrongly used – still enslaved him. And for the first time, a great sacrifice was asked of him…but he lacked the heart for it.

Is this materialism our blind spot as well?

And then last Sunday, that other encounter with Jesus? James and John, apostles, brothers, "sons of thunder," the Zebedee boys, so full of zeal…They too asked Jesus a question: “When you come into your glory, may we sit beside you, one on your right and one on your left?”

Jesus' response? "You do not know what you are asking." They too were unprepared for the truth about themselves, about the true nature of their calling. Their status as apostles, their unique relationship with Jesus, filled them with self-importance, the kind that leads to petty rivalries. In essence they said, "Come on, Jesus, tell us that we're better than the others, that we're your favorites."

Oh, yes, they had a blind spot as well -- pride and a lack of Christian humility. We're so much better, they thought, so much holier than the rest. How sad that they can't be like us. And so Jesus illuminates their blind spot: you are called not to be princes, but servants, and you must follow My example in all things, even to the Cross. Of course they don’t understand. It's only later, when confronted by that Cross, that they scatter like scared rabbits, their pride shattered by the reality of Christ's passion and death.

How many of us, blinded by pride, forget that everything comes from God, that we were created in a wondrous act of love, but created to serve, to serve God and to serve each other?

60 years ago I, along with a large group of children, received my First Holy Communion in St. Peter’s Church in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Among those children was a developmentally disabled boy. He was maybe two or three years older than the rest of us and attended a special school so none of us knew him very well. I can’t even recall his name. But I remember he was seated on the aisle at the end of our pew and when it was time to rise and go forward for Communion, he literally leaped to his feet and said, “Jesus!” -- really scared the rest of us. But that’s how excited he was about receiving Jesus for the first time. And whenever I read today’s Gospel passage I think of him.

Because today we encounter Bartimaeus -- Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, leaping Bartimaeus, the blind beggar of Jericho. How different from the other encounters with Jesus.

Jesus was leaving Jericho, on His way to Jerusalem, on His way to the Cross, when He passed by the blind beggar named Bartimaeus. Jesus was accompanied by a “sizable crowd,” Mark tells us, no doubt a noisy, pushy crowd, curious about this Jesus.

When Bartimaeus heard Jesus’ name, he cried out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." What an interesting thing for this man to say. Like all who encountered Jesus, Bartimaeus knew there was something special, something prophetic, something divine, about Him. And so Bartimaeus didn't hold back. In faith he uses the Messianic title, "Son of David" and by doing so proclaims Christ's mission to the world.

His request? So simple: "Have mercy on me." Yes, like all of us, he’s a sinner, filled with weakness, in need of mercy. His blind spot? Strictly a physical one.

The disciples try to shut him up, this beggar, this blind man who's what? An embarrassment? But Bartimaeus won’t comply. He won’t be silenced: "Son of David, have mercy on me."

And Jesus stops. "Call him," He says.

Notice how solicitous the others suddenly become, but how patronizingly solicitous. "Take Heart," they say, "Rise, He is calling you." As if to say, "Remember, Jesus is very important, and unlike us, you're just a worthless beggar. But for some reason Jesus wants to talk to you." But Bartimaeus, in his blindness, is focused not on these others, but on Jesus alone.

And so he leaps to his feet, throws off his cloak, that symbol of his status as a beggar, and makes his way, through his own personal darkness, directly to Jesus. Jesus asks him the same exact question He asked James and John in last Sunday's Gospel: "What do you want me to do for you?"
But the answer is something quite different. Having already admitted his sinfulness, and tasted Jesus' mercy in his heart, Bartimaeus asks for one thing: "Master, I want to see."

How does Jesus respond to this? Not, as we might expect, with, "Receive your sight." No, Jesus simply says, "Go your way; your faith has saved you."

Instantly Bartimaeus can see. And he went, but not his way. No, as Mark tells us, he follows Jesus on the way. For it is Jesus who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

You see, unlike the young rich man, unlike the apostles, in his faith, Bartimaeus really had no blind spots whatsoever. His physical blindness was a mere technicality. Bartimaeus knew exactly what he was -- not a blind beggar, but a sinner in need of God's mercy and forgiveness. “Master, I want to see” – not to see with his eyes. No, he wanted to be cured of spiritual blindness so he could see the way, the truth, and the life.

And so we’re each left with a question: Where do I see myself in the Gospel? Am I like the rich young man, blinded and enslaved by my possessions, so wrapped up in the world that to follow Jesus is unthinkable? Or am I like James and John, so caught up in myself that I lose sight of God's call to love and serve Him and His people?

Let us pray today that, like Bartimaeus, we can all turn to the Father in humility, begging for His mercy, and that we too may see the way He has planned for each of us.